


Snippets from Apocrypha

by LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Benthic Lurker, F/M, Gen, Impregnation, M/F, Mindbreak, Other, Oviposition, Seeker, SoloF, Tentacle Bondage, Tentacles, almost certain squick, dark in places, transgender protagonist, womb-invading tentacle-symbiotes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe/pseuds/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe
Summary: Various smutty shorts of the Last Dragonborn's adventures in the realm of Hermaeus Mora, proving once and for all that the brainy ones really ARE the kinkiest.





	1. Dreams of the Summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odette Marsh, soon-to-be Champion of Hermaeus Mora, lies helpless in the tentacled grasp of her deadly foe, Miraak.
> 
> That may not be a bad thing.

“ _It takes a strong will to command the forces of Apocrypha, Dragonborn,” the deep, accented voice purred, smug and unmoved by Odette’s struggles. “Perhaps you aren’t as powerful as you think?”_

_The tentacles tightened around her wrists, hauling them above her head until she had to raise up on the tips of her toes._

_A lazy gesture of his staff, and more tentacles wrapped around her ankles, slick but hard as steel, unyielding even as she struggled harder._

_A chuckle, deep, echoing from within the golden mask. “‘The fly may struggle as it will, but the web holds fast.’ Writhe as you wish, Dragonborn.” A filthy curse was the only response he received._

_“Such temper ill suits_ Kriid-se-Alduin. _” The staff tapped upon the ground, and in answer the tentacles drew her legs up and apart, exposing her core to his probing egaze. “You grow moist, Dragonborn. Perhaps your will is weak because your heart is not in the struggle?” Damn the man, that he sounded so pleased!_

_It was a lie. Odette was sweating, true, the struggles against the slick (sooo slick) tentacles and the hot (sooo hot- no, no), humid air left her glistening, but it was not arousal. Perhaps her crotch sweated more (soooo wet), but what of it?_

_And, damn it to the Void, another tentacle, this one just lightly caressing her belly, tickling, teasing._

_“Your hands,” he intoned, “once were idle.” The tentacle reached lower._

_“Now through them,” he droned, “do I speak.” The tentacle brushed her thatch._

_“Your hands once were idle,” he repeated. Another tentacle, stroking her rear._

_“Now through them do I speak.”_

_Rubbing against the rosebud, slow and slick with strange oil._

_“Your hands,” he said, and she did not even realize she was repeating it with him, “once were idle.”_

_“My hands once were idle.” The tentacle in front brushed her clit in reward, and she sobbed out a shuddering, wracking breath._

_“Now through them do I speak.”_

_“Now-” and the rearmost tendril pushed in, slowly and steadily, “through h-h-him” in deep, “do they speak!”_

_“Your hands once were idle.” Slow. Repetitious. Wearing away her will like water on stone._

_“My hands once were idle.” The tentacle in front pushes in, firm and forceful, and she cannot bring herself to care as she slips deeper into his voice._

_“Now through them do I speak.” Penetrated front and behind, pinned between two boneless limbs of impossible strength, mind held firm in His grasp, she barely feels as though there is any ‘her’ left._

_“Now through them does he speak.” Shuddering into orgasm, the thought is bliss._

_“Through them does- does- does he speak!”_

_-_

Her sheets are wet with sweat and the juice of her gushing cunt.

Half of Raven Rock would have been woken by her cries of thunderous orgasm, had she not taken the precaution of setting silence runes on the door and walls of Sarethi manor. As it was, the town gossips whispered of the Dragonborn’s drawn, exhausted features.

They were just dreams.

She tells herself that.

Hand buried between her thighs, rubbing herself to the third orgasm of the morning, chanting “Through them does he speak” over and over again as she clenches tight around the carved ivory length of her horker tusk godemiche, she prays they are.

~o0o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some small edits for spelling, and to add proper italicization. Edited work to show this is a multi-chapter work.
> 
> Next chapter is in the works.


	2. Tentacle Symbiote (Part1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermaeus Mora grants the Dragonborn an odd reward for a task well done,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm having a bout of writers block, so have the (sort of sfw) WIP.
> 
> If you're wondering, the 'sprawling mansion' mentioned in the text is a mod I'm working on, Black Book: Liminal Nuclei.
> 
> Unfortunately, crippling hidden bugs are slowing development. Ah, well.

“Ah… Champion.”

The slow, almost gurgling voice was pleased, heavy with Hermaeus Mora’s usual gloating tone. The Daedra couldn’t smile, but his tone was pleased, and there was a barely- restrained excitement to the writhing of the tentacles that poured from gaping wound in the fabric of reality, high above the acidic seas of Apocrypha.

“You have it,” he hissed, a statement and a demand all in one.

“Kitab al Azif,” Odette replied, barely restraining smugness, holding the book high above her head as she knelt gracefully before her Lord, ragged robes whispering around her. “Scribed by the mad Yokudan Abd al-Arzrad, kept secret by scholars and mages for a thousand years.”

“At last… mine. You please me, Champion. Oh, yes, you please me. I have awaited the Book of the Approacher joining my library for many long years, and you have delivered it into my grasp. Such service deserves… a reward.”

Thus had been their relationship for years. Mora would command her, and she would obey. A tome of esoteric lore delivered into His clutches, a recording of the fever dream of an orcish shaman or poetry of an Ashlander Wise Woman repeated verbatim to Him, an artifact of power or item of historical significance laid at His altar; and, in turn, Hermaeus Mora would reward His herald and Champion with a blessing. A spell, perhaps, a new thu’um, a weapon or the knowledge of summoning one of the myriad of Apocrypha’s strange daedra- one time even a sprawling mansion located within the folds between realms. 

It was an equitable relationship, lacking in the betrayal and rebellion that characterized the service of Mora’s previous champions, and Odette fully expected it to proceed thusly for the foreseeable future.

“You are… content, are you not, my Champion?”

That was not a question she had been expecting. “I am, my Lord. My foes lie dead or bow to my thu’um, my household is secure, I am powerful and unafraid. I can defend those that are mine. The secrets of the worlds lie open to me. What else is there to life?” Why would He ask? The Prince of Fate did not normally express interest in the comfort of His Champions.

“Hmmmmm. But that is not the only purpose of mortal life, is it? Scurrying things that you are, you evolved to survive, yes, and thrive, and yet… that is not your only goal.”

Odette shifted slightly, frowning. What was Mora on about? 

“Life reproduces, does it not? Cells are divided, plants are pollinated, mammals… impregnated.” 

Her back stiffened, and her face developed an expression of sheer outrage sufficient, it would seem, to intimidate a Daedric Prince.

“I know of the culture of your people, Dragonborn,” Hermaeus Mora said soothingly. “The last remnants of the ancient benthic tribes, the Deep Ones, yes. I know your people place great emphasis on family, on progeny. On the… hmmm, hybrids, yes, rebuilding their numbers as their kin in Y'ha'neth'lei no longer can.”

“Aye, Lord,” she agreed.

“And yet… you were robbed of this. Your, hmmm, transformation into the form of your ancestors, your body’s cycles halted in their course so few years after gaining them in full, your march towards that final transformation into the form hidden in your blood, all for the immortality I grant my Champions. Do you resent me, Champion?”

It was true. Her body was oddly affected by the immortality Hermaeus Mora bestowed, almost as if it were frozen between moments. She did not need to eat, could forgo sleep almost indefinitely with no consequences save a sort of mild dissociation from reality, her hair would not grow and her cycle halted in its tracks. 

It was a mixed blessing. She had worked hard, plundering tombs and barrows, risking her life time and again for the gold for this transition. Face sculptors who had studied the ways of the Hollow Men and their sex-changing sorceries were hardly cheap, after all. Only to have Hermaeus Mora rip the possibility of children of her own from her, as ‘reward’ for bringing Miraak to heel.

“I never expected children, Lord. My people are used to… imperfect lives.”

“Aaahhhhh. And, yet… my Champions must be… rewarded, mustn't she? And I am generous, as befits a Prince of Oblivion. Would you bear young, my Champion, as you have wished?”

What a question. It was, she had to admit, awkward to be questioned thus by a being so dispassionate and clinical in it’s nature, much less by one who presented as somewhat male, and yet… she could hardly deny that her heat leapt in her chest. “There’s a catch, I presume, My Lord?”

“Do you still distrust me so? I offer you, as I always have, the truth.” Mora sounded almost hurt. “I cannot grant you the ability to bear life in the common way without rendering you… hmmm, vulnerable and mortal; and yet there is an alternative.”

A pair of tentacles emerge from the gently-squirming mass that make up her Lord’s avatar. They coil gently around… well, she wasn’t actually sure.

The strange object was squid-like; possessed of a phallic ‘head’ and multiple tentacles, which while rear-facing were flexible enough to bend 180 degrees and wave in front of the ‘head.’ It’s skin was the same green as Hermaeus Mora’s most common avatar, and possessed the same smooth-yet-rough, almost lizard-like skin, along with the same oily sheen. It had no eyes, and yet Odette could swear it was looking at her.

It was actually kind of cute.

“What the Void is it?” she asked bluntly, shocked out of all courtesy and respect.

The Prince of Fate was, fortunately, not easy to offend. “Your tongue, Champion, has no term for such a thing. It is a symbiote, of a sort. A living organism, formed as all things in My realm from the raw creatia of Apocrypha, given life by altering and infusing life-energies bartered from the Ideal Masters, given sentience through absorption of some of the personality traits of a willing host. It will rest, should you permit it, within your womb for a time, growing and learning, until the time comes for it to be birthed. And then it will leave your flesh, and form a cocoon, from which will emerge… well. That is a secret.”

Well. It was hardly a child, was it? Not quite the same as a laughing, smiling daughter to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Still… the idea had merit.

Certainly, most women would recoil in horror from such a perverse thought, but most women were not raised to worship the god of secrets and look forward to the time when they cast off their human form and joined their Deep One ancestors beneath the waves. Such an upbringing broadened the mind considerably. 

Ah, fuck it. Even bizarre tentacle-penis-squids needed a mum. 

~o0o~


End file.
